


scars

by PumpkinDoodles



Series: Taserbones Tumblr Prompts & Tiny (Adorkable) Fics [44]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Brock and Darcy compare scars, F/M, Just how you do, Naked Of Course, Scarred!Brock, TripleAgent!Rumlow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:21:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26291788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinDoodles/pseuds/PumpkinDoodles
Summary: Brock Rumlow isn't expecting Darcy Lewis to ask him out on a date--especially after she turned him down years ago.
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Brock Rumlow
Series: Taserbones Tumblr Prompts & Tiny (Adorkable) Fics [44]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1484168
Comments: 27
Kudos: 310





	scars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NevermoreBlack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NevermoreBlack/gifts).



> *I own nothing!
> 
> NevermoreBlack requested: "Before the Battle of the Triskelion, Brock asks Darcy out but she turns him down flat and turns cold after. He's confused because she's usually really flirty. Flash forward to after his Crossbones days, and he's lonely but his scars have done a number on his self esteem and women shy away from him. Then he runs into Darcy again who quickly asks him out. Again he's confused by her sudden about face, and reluctant. Turns out that Darcy rejected him before because she was scared of his reaction if he saw her scars. I'm imagining when she was a little girl a pot of boiling water accidentally got knocked on her, as a result one side of her body is covered in burns scars. That's why she always wears bulky clothes. But seeing Brock again with his own scars, she can relate."

* * *

“Brock?” He was standing in line at a coffee shop near the office when someone said his name from behind. “Brock Rumlow?” A woman’s voice, vaguely familiar. He paused, trying to paste on a polite smile, before he turned to face her. These days--after his undercover HYDRA work, his recovery in the hospital, and a brief stint pretending to be a merc called Crossbones so he could steal back SHIELD’s missing equipment--he spent most of his time trying to blend in with the other agents. His toughest job. He turned and found himself face-to-face with Darcy Lewis. “Hi,” she said, smiling. “It’s _great_ to see you.”

“Hi,” he said, voice slightly more rough and low than he’d intended. Darcy looked as good as ever. Maybe better than he remembered. She’d turned him down flat years ago. They’d met at a conference where’d been working SHIELD security, he’d flirted, she’d flirted, but when he’d tried to follow up, she’d gone all...weird. But she was beaming at him now. “Yeah,” he said politely. “I’m a little hard to recognize these days.”

“Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head. “I’d recognize you anywhere.”

“Sure you would,” he said, a little charmed by the way she was shaking her head.

“Mmm-hmm,” she insisted. “It’s the way you carry yourself and the, uh--”

“The what?” he asked, puzzled.

“Nothing,” she said, blushing. He was going to ask more questions, but she surprised him first. “Would you like to have dinner with me?” Darcy asked.

“Are you asking me on a date?” Brock said, too startled to filter. She’d acted practically phobic of him at that conference. “Now?”

“Absolutely,” she said. “Is that a yes?”

* * *

They were mid-date when he brought it up again, curiosity nagging at him. “So,” he said, pouring her a glass of wine, “now that we’ve done the polite conversation and talked about work and our families, can I ask you a real question?”

“A real question?” Darcy said. Her cheeks were a little pink. He was maybe flirting at maximum intensity. 

“Why’d you ask me out today when you didn’t want anything to do with me back in Oslo?” he asked. She frowned. “What?” he said, when she stared off into middle distance for a long moment, expression conflicted.

“I asked you out,” she said, sounding weirdly vexed. “Because I was a complete idiot back then. Total idiot.” She shook her head again. “I can’t believe I was so stupid!”

“To let me get away?” he said, touching his chest and grinning. He started to laugh.

“Yes,” she said. “One hundred percent. Ms. Dumbass.” She mimed shaking his hand, as if they were being introduced. He shook it, still laughing.

“Okay, Ms. Dumbass,” he said. She scrunched her nose and pulled a face. He scrunched his nose back.

“I was so stupid,” she repeated.

“Care to elaborate?” he asked. She tilted her chin back and sighed.

“I’d just broken up with Ian--”

“Pasty Braithewaite, I remember him,” Brock cracked.

“His name is Boothby, but okay,” Darcy said, clearly amused. “Anyway, we’d just broken up and I, uh, felt really bad about myself, physically.”

“Physically?” he said, not following. 

“Like an idiot. I can’t believe I let him live rent-free in my head!” Darcy said, gesturing. “Still, sometimes. So, I was nervous about going out with you and you seeing me naked--”

“I was seeing you naked in this scenario?” he said, leaning forward avidly. He could feel himself grinning.

“That was sort of the issue. Not the date, but after the date,” she explained. “When I would have to take off the comfy sweater and let you see...stuff.”

“Stuff?” he asked, perplexed.

“Surgery scars, stretch marks, cellulite, I’ve got the whole deal,” she said, frowning. “And a burn scar from a car accident. He used to make little comments and jokes, it really messed with me for awhile.” Her expression shifted. “After we broke up, I realized that made _him_ the problem, not me.” He nodded. She sipped her wine. “It took me a really long time. Jane may have staged an intervention when I talked about never wearing a bathing suit again.” Brock lifted his wine glass. 

“Here’s to the fear of taking your clothes off, sweetheart,” he said, clinking his glass with hers in acknowledgment. Darcy grinned.

“I’m not afraid anymore, I swear!” she insisted.

“Oh yeah?” he asked, raising his glass to his lips. 

“I just wish I could erase the sound of his voice in my head,” she admitted. 

“The fucker,” Brock said.

“The fucker,” Darcy echoed, taking a sip of her wine. She looked at him. "I recognized you because I might've stalked your social media for months afterward," she confessed. "I spent way too much time staring at pictures of you. I know what the back of your head looks like now."

"Oh, that's not stalkery," he said. "Women say that to me all the time."

* * *

“What am I looking for, exactly?” Brock said, jokingly. He was sprawled on his bed while Darcy took her clothes off. He’d dimmed the lights between kisses and taken his shirt off first. Just to be supportive, he told her. She didn’t seem to mind his scars, which was why he found her insecurities puzzling. You wouldn’t think someone would be okay with him, but anxious about him seeing her body. But she’d actually started to look anxious when he put his hand under her shirt. He’d asked her what the hell she had to feel bad about? Now they were playfully comparing scars. He caught her sweater with a laugh when it landed on his chest. 

“Scoliosis surgical scar,” she said, trying to point to her back. “I had to have surgery when I was a kid. And then wear a freaking brace, which is why I got into sweaters.”

“They’re good sweaters,” he said, smirking. She looked over her shoulder at him. 

“C’mon,” Darcy said, half-turning. He raked his eyes over her breasts and then smirked lazily.

“What?” he said. “I like a pretty girl in a good sweater.” She huffed.

“I hate that this is in my brain now, but Ian said my boobs weren’t perky enough and they were too soft,” she said, making a fiercely angry face. 

“Because they’re real breasts?” Brock said, tilting his head. “Turn around, hot stuff. Lemme help you with that,” he said, unhooking her bra and running his fingers down the long, narrow scar above her spine. 

“That’s the surgical scar,” Darcy said.

“This little thing?” he asked wryly. He scoffed.

“Also, I have stretch marks and lumpy thighs,” she said in a voice that was probably an imitation of Braithewaite’s, he though. She was patting her low back when he towed down her leggings with a grin. He squeezed her ass and she giggled. 

“Where?” he said.

“You can’t see them?” she said, in a more normal voice.

“Nuh-huh,” Brock said. He couldn’t actually, not in this light. Had Braithewaite examined her under a microscope or some shit? He stroked his thumbs over her skin. “All I see is cute,” he added, “where’s this burn scar, I’m sure I’m beating you there?” He made his voice wry.

“Here,” she said softly, turning to face him. He heard her slight inhale and the nervous tone in her voice.

“Mmm,” Brock said, letting his eyes move from her face down her body. The burn was on the front of one hip, edging from her upper thigh to the top edge of her underwear. A patch of whitened, slickly squiggly skin. “That,” Brock whispered quietly, “is no big deal.” He grinned at her. 

“What?” Darcy said.

“I mean, if you have to keep having sex with me, since we’ve both got burns,” he began teasingly, “for the forseeable future?” 

“Okay,” she said. “I think I have to, probably.” They were grinning at each other. Darcy started to giggle and inhaled more sharply as he tugged down her underwear gently. 

“You wanna get on the bed?” he asked. “I had ideas about our last date, sweetheart.”

“Yeah?” Darcy said, looking thrilled.

“Things I wanted to do with you,” he said, leaning forward to press his mouth into her burn scar tenderly. “You ready?”

“Yes,” she said, nodding eagerly.


End file.
